


Beautiful Truths

by WouldItWere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Not Epilogue Compliant, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Self-Hatred, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WouldItWere/pseuds/WouldItWere
Summary: Potter and Draco go with the flow, and Draco doesn't question it.





	Beautiful Truths

Potter and Draco were forced to work on a case together.

Draco was always given the most difficult assignments, because the system hated him for who he’d always been. And Draco always took the assignments, because he agreed.

Potter took the most difficult assignments because he loved the world and always wanted to save, save, save, of course. So now they were thrown together, pouring over notes and trying to crack the case.

It was a weeks-long project, requiring countless hours and overtime. It was misery to work together, but the intensity of the work and its long duration left little room to focus on their animosity toward each other. Their dialogue consisted less and less of jabs and insults, and instead consisted of exchanging information about the case. They even helped each other, pointing out valuable details or offering advice, once or twice even mentioning that the other had done something well. It was still barely bearable, but at least it was that much.

One night, Potter rubbed his tired eyes beneath his glasses. “I’m starving,” he said. “I need food or my brain is going to shut off.”

“Push past it,” Draco said. “We haven’t done enough to justify taking off for the night.”

“Let’s go to a pub or something fast,” Potter negotiated. “We can work at the table, and then once we eat we can come back here and finish. There’s no use in keeping at this when our blood sugars are so low, right? We’re no good to anyone if we collapse.”

Finally, Draco relented, because he’d learned after all this time that if it came down to a difference of opinion between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter was probably the one in the right.

This night proved no exception. Potter’s plan ended up being so beneficial that they did the same thing the next day, and the next. At one point they even upgraded to eating at finer establishments, and during actual dinnertime. And, as this worked so well, Potter eventually suggested they work together through lunches, too.

They ended up working so efficiently together that their case ended in a huge success. Relieved and pleased, Potter and Draco went to their usual pub that night, this time in celebration. Potter and he got drunk, and Potter’s eyes glittered with excitement. “This is brilliant—you and I are brilliant,” he declared, fixing his beaming smile right on Draco, and Draco had to admit that it was brilliant that they’d been able to close the case. “We should keep doing this,” Potter said.

As much as Draco knew they both hated each other, he agreed they should probably team up on other projects, and thus achieve similarly successful results. Potter smiled brightly when Draco said so.

Potter and he worked together again from then on. Even when they weren’t assigned on the same case, they sometimes worked in the same office space together, since they had formed the habit and because they’d discovered bouncing ideas off each other often helped.

“You shouldn’t work at the table,” Potter said one night at their favourite restaurant. “It’s rude. Come on.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He always worked at the table. But, he supposed it was rather rude to the wait staff, and since he was ahead of schedule on this assignment, he could stand to pause on his work for enough time to have dinner.

He and Potter talked instead. It was a relief to take his mind off work, and chatting with Potter over a meal relaxed his mind, so that when he returned to his assignment later, he got through it much faster than he otherwise would have. He and Potter carried this useful tool into the rest of their meals together from then on.

The first time Potter invited Granger and Weasley to join them, Draco almost got sick. However, Potter put a hand on his and told him it would be all right, and his friends would be happy to spend an evening with them. Although Potter soon retracted his hand, the memory of its scorching touch distracted Draco into keeping up a flowing conversation with Potter’s friends, and Draco actually survived the ordeal.

Granger and Weasley came by more after that, and Draco stopped minding. Obviously he couldn’t monopolise Potter’s time so much that he didn’t see his friends. That would never result in Potter continuing to pretend he tolerated Draco’s presence.

Most days they were alone, though. It was a shame Granger and Weasley had lives of their own, as Potter was so often stuck with only Draco as company.

One day, Potter said he wasn’t interested in dining out together. Draco hated himself for the way his heart sank. He nodded anyway, obviously not wanting to admit such a thing to Potter.

“How about I cook tonight?” Potter suggested. Draco’s breath caught in surprise.

Potter cooking for them was a strange idea, but it was a change of pace, since Potter had evidently gotten tired of going to all their usual eateries again and again. Draco consented, curious whether Potter was the type to secretly master cuisine or to burn down a house.

He proved to know his way around a kitchen, and prepared them a nice enough meal. Draco complimented him for it, and Potter ducked away, just as Draco started to notice how the steam from the food had begun to make Potter’s cheeks go reddish.

Potter suggested the same thing again the next day, and the next, saying that there were many recipes he wanted to try.

Draco felt bad making Potter do all the work, knowing he would eventually resent Draco for freeloading—he definitely already did—so Draco voiced this. Potter lit up at Draco’s acknowledging the elephant in the room. That night, Draco cooked for them, and from then on, they alternated.

One night, as they were sitting on Potter’s living room floor and sharing a bottle of wine, Draco noticed Potter was fidgeting. He asked Potter why, but Potter just blushed and didn’t answer.

Finally, Potter downed a few giant gulps in a row, as though steeling himself for some formidable task, and then asked Draco if he could kiss him.

Draco was shocked. “W-why?”

“I’ve been dying to for so long,” Potter said, staring at his lips. “You’re all I see, every day, every night. I know you’re old-fashioned, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but it’s killing me.”

Draco wanted to crumple from guilt and shame. He’d taken up so much of Potter’s time that Potter couldn’t get his rocks off with anyone else, and he literally had to resort to _Draco Malfoy_  just to get relief. No wonder Potter had downed so much alcohol—so he wouldn’t be so put off by Draco’s Draco-ness that he couldn’t get his much needed release.

He agreed to let Potter have him, hating himself for how good it felt, and for how much he, too, had been desperate for Potter’s touch for so long.

One night, they got a late start on their dinner-work-and-talk, and then were chatting so much that they lost track of time. Draco’s eyelids began to droop of their own accord.

“You can’t Apparate this tired,” Potter said, turning away before Draco could see the reluctant expression he definitely wore. “Why don’t you sleep over?”

Draco’s stomach twisted with how much Potter obviously hated the idea. But his mind really was hazy with sleep, and from the wine they’d shared besides, so he accepted the offer.

Potter lent him some clothes and a toothbrush, and when Draco asked who would sleep where, Potter actually went red in the face with anger. Draco cringed, figuring now would be the time Potter would shout that he really couldn’t stand the idea of Draco staying over after all. But instead, Potter forced himself to blurt out that Draco could sleep in his bed while Potter slept on the sofa.

He looked like he regretted it the moment he said it, and Draco felt so bad he didn’t argue, just thanked him as politely as he could, to ease some of that resentment. He didn’t want Potter to kick him out into the cold or hex him in his sleep.

They ate breakfast together and commuted to work, and as much as it was clearly an imposition, even Potter couldn’t deny how convenient it was for them to work into the night and then head to the office together in the morning. They repeated this a few times in the coming weeks, and then more often. Every time Draco saw that extra toothbrush by Potter’s sink, he felt another pang of guilt, knowing that Potter couldn’t Vanish the thing, since Draco would probably be back again soon and need it. Draco was such a bloody burden all the time. Still, it was nice to sleep in a house occupied by another human being, so Draco tried to enjoy Potter’s hospitality as long as it would last.

One late night all their paperwork from the office ended up piled on the sofa Potter usually slept on, so Draco assured him it would be all right if Potter slept in his own bed. Potter beamed, certainly having missed the familiar comfort of the mattress Draco had been stealing.

He didn’t seem to mind that he forgot to kick Draco out of the bed, so they shared it that night. It proved not to be terribly uncomfortable for either of them, so they continued with this easier practice from then on.

One day Draco asked why he never saw Potter bring anyone home, and Potter outright laughed. “Who else would I bring home?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you fancy any attractive witches you meet?”

Potter rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Right. Of course.” He shook his head. “Don’t meet any witches. Too busy spending all my free time with you, you nutter.”

Draco’s stomach clenched. Fuck, he was ruining Potter’s life.

He let Potter have him regularly from then on. He relished Potter’s touch like freezing men relished fire, and other such disgusting clichés. He was so ashamed, but at least it served Potter’s desires well enough, which was the most important thing.

Christmas rolled around, and Draco didn’t look forward to spending the holiday alone. Saint-like as always, Potter extended the hand of charity again, and allowed Draco to tag along to the Weasley home for Christmas. Draco tried to stay out of the way there, not wanting to make anyone remember that their hatred carried enough authority to kick him out. Potter kept Draco by his side, though, so he made sure Draco didn’t break anything. Draco ruined everything he touched, always had, so he was relieved that Potter’s watchful eyes could stop any disasters from occurring.

At one point on the way back from the toilet, he overheard a snippet of dialogue through the kitchen door. It was between Potter and Ginny Weasley—Potter’s ex.

“He’s a Malfoy, sure,” the ginger said. She made a derisive sound, laughing at the very thought of him. “But of course I’ll support you no matter what. What you do is your business. And we all love you, Harry.”

Draco cringed, heart pounding. He was at least grateful that, despite how much she despised Draco, the Weasley girl had consented to letting Potter keep him at the Christmas party.

Winter thawed into spring. One afternoon, Potter decided he’d like to eat picnic-style on a patch of grass in a place that happened to be Draco’s favourite park. Draco casually mentioned this, and Potter laughed and said _obviously_ , and Draco shut up.

After they’d had their picnic, they sat on the grass and looked out on the beautiful landscape, and Potter began talking.

“Draco,” he said, because they’d decided a while back that calling each other by their first names in conversation was easier. “I'm so happy. This past year has genuinely been the best year of my life.”

Draco wasn’t sure why, but he could remember a few lovely moments—some brilliant restaurants, the smiling of Granger and the Weasleys, the many successful cases at work—that could understandably account for it.

“I’m so grateful for every second,” Potter went on, which also made sense, because he’d spent so long thinking he was going to die a teenager. Potter shifted into a stranger position, half-sitting, as though he were about to stand up, and Draco wondered if he might flee. “Draco…will you marry me?”

The jug of lemonade between them shattered.

Potter jumped, startled at Draco’s sudden explosion of magic, but Draco was frozen.

“ _What_?”

Draco barely even understood that he’d spoken, because he couldn’t feel his mouth or any part of his body. “What?” he repeated.

Potter’s position, he realised, was kneeling on one knee. In his hands was a ring, and he was holding it up.

Potter’s eyes became unsure. “What do you mean, ‘what?’”

“I—I…” Draco floundered for anything that made sense. Nothing did. “This isn’t funny.”

“No, of course it’s not funny,” Potter said, and then gave the prank away by laughing. “I’m serious. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Self-loathing clawed up Draco’s chest and into his throat, and the next thing he knew he was crying. “Stop it,” he said, although realistically he knew he had no authority to make demands to Harry Potter. “But if this is about…well, I’ll keep letting you fuck me without you needing to put a label like that on it. I’m not _that_ old-fashioned, despite what you and your friends might think of me.”

Potter blinked. Insanely, Potter latched on the most random of Draco’s words. “ _Letting_ me fuck you? Draco, I—that’s all this has been to you?”

The tears burned. Of course it had been more to him. It had always been more to him. It had been _everything_ to him. But admitting that to himself would have been admitting he desperately needed something he could never have. And now Potter was trying to get him to admit it, in order to humiliate him. “What else would it be,” he ground out bitterly.

Potter scooted closer to him, placing a tentative hand on Draco’s arm. “I _thought_ I was making love to you.”

Draco nearly choked on his tears. “I told you that’s not funn—”

“Not funny, I know,” Potter said. His eyes were quickly taking on a look that seemed concerned, and actually _fearful_. “Draco, what are you saying? Of course I love you. I—we’ve been dating for months. We live together. My friends adore you, and you spent Christmas with my family.”

Draco sucked in a breath, and then he couldn’t stop. He was beginning to hyperventilate. “I—you—those were accidents.”

“Whose accidents?” Potter demanded. Somehow, he knew exactly what question to ask to unravel Draco’s whole story. He knew Draco _that_ well. How had that happened?

“Yours,” Draco said.

Potter made a sound that Draco realised was the beginning of Potter crying, too. Potter threw his arms around Draco and squeezed him tight against Potter’s chest. “Oh my gods,” he whispered in Draco's ear. “How… _how_ could you possibly think we weren’t…?”

He began to rock them. Draco just went along, letting Potter move them, feeling the warmth of Potter’s embrace through his whole body as Draco sobbed. They sat like that for a while.

Potter was speaking, keeping up an endless litany in Draco’s ear. “I love you. _Fuck_ , I love you. So _much_. Loved you for so long…it feels like forever. I thought we were on the same page the whole time. I could’ve sworn I…oh, gods. I love you. I was never good with words so I guess I never…but I showed you. I always…Draco, I _love_ you. Fuck, please, I love you.”

Draco kept crying. He wanted to believe it. He wanted Potter to have loved him, every day, every night, this whole time.

Somehow, those were the words that managed to squeak past his brain and into his mouth. “This whole time.”

Potter’s breath stuttered out, either horrified by the words or relieved to hear them, Draco had no idea anymore. “Fuck, _yes, this whole time_. Draco…!”

He planted a desperate kiss against Draco’s lips. He kissed him hard, so hard, and deep, so deep. Like he was trying to force his love through Draco’s skin and warm Draco to his very core. “Every second,” he breathed against Draco’s mouth, only pulling away enough so that he could speak, but not any farther away than that. “I don’t know when it shifted from just working together to something else. It was gradual and I just went with the flow. I thought you knew we were becoming something more. That we were getting serious, falling in love. Fuck, oh my gods, do you even love me back?!”

His voice was utterly terrified. His eyes were, too. His whole body was, as he held Draco and appeared to imagine his whole life flashing before his eyes moments before a fatal crash.

The air was thick. Draco felt dizzy. Genuinely dizzy. “Always,” he replied, speaking the first non-lie he’d told himself since Merlin-knew-when. “Always loved you. You make my life worth living.”

Potter let out a cry of simultaneous relief and desperation. He hugged Draco hard again, this time shoving forward so Draco fell onto his back and Potter pressed him into the ground, tangled them together. “Then marry me. Please, let’s get married. I’ll make sure you know how much I love you every goddamn day. I want to spend the rest of my fucking life loving you with everything I have. Please.”

Draco’s heart was pounding despite the fact that he wasn’t moving and didn’t plan on it. “Yes,” he said, because it was all he’d ever wanted and more. Because it was the best thing he could ever imagine his life being, and he’d never known it was an option.

He’d never let himself imagine it as an option, never let himself think past the moment he’d been in with Harry, too scared that he’d never deserve anything more than that moment. But the lies he’d made himself believe to protect himself were falling away to reveal the most beautiful truths he had ever encountered. “Yes,” he repeated. “Yes.”

Harry was kissing him again. Draco found himself kissing back so fiercely he was soon running out of air. But he kept kissing anyway. Even when his crying tumbled away and was replaced by wet laughter.

“I want a redo of every one of our dates,” Harry said, nipping at Draco’s bottom lip and making Draco giggle breathlessly. “Did you seriously not think they were dates? Draco, just so we are clear, you are as un-friend-zoned as it is possible to be. Got it?”

“Got it,” Draco said, his voice small. Amazed.

“No, I mean, do you _really_ got it? I am not marrying you as a friend. I like-like you. I like-like-like you.”

Draco nodded vigorously. Then, “For the record,” he added, wondering if oxygen had always tasted so nice or if that was all Harry’s doing, “I like-like-like you, too.”

Harry looked so relieved his whole face glowed. “Permission to romance the hell out of you from now on? The right way?”

He tugged on Harry’s hair, the softness in his hands mirroring the softness he felt inside. “Permission granted.”

His legs wound up wrapped around Harry’s hips, and Harry lowered his body all the way, covering every inch of Draco with warmth, sending sparks all through him. “Well then, Draco Malfoy-soon-to-be-Malfoy-Potter, prepare to be formally seduced.”

Draco kissed Harry’s forehead. Right on top of the faded scar, the one that reminded him every day just how much Harry liked to make the world a better place. “Too late,” he said with a grin.

Harry looked at him, his green eyes blazing in the golden sunlight. Then he dropped his head into the crook of Draco’s throat and, between kisses, whispered in his ear, “It’s never too late.”

Draco tilted his head back, letting the happiness and the magic of the universe fill him. Harry was everywhere, holding him, making him sigh.

Fuck, since when did the sun shine so bright? Since when was the world so beautiful?

Apparently, since Harry Potter loved him.

Which, apparently, wonderfully, spectacularly, had been always.


End file.
